


claim

by sanzuh



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Dragons, F/M, Human Sacrifice, Rhaegar has seven wives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-12 06:49:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28631289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanzuh/pseuds/sanzuh
Summary: Jonsa Drabbles Day 2 Fireworks"Excuse me, I was under the impression I was not to be executed today!"
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Comments: 28
Kudos: 98
Collections: Jonsa New Year Drabbles





	claim

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this prompt:
> 
> Rhaegar's seven wives:
> 
> Elia Martell
> 
> Cersei Lannister
> 
> Lyanna Stark
> 
> Lysa Tully
> 
> Alynne Connington
> 
> Myranda Royce
> 
> Margaery Tyrell

A long time ago, Sansa had dreamed of wearing gowns such as the one the Dragon King's servants had put her in before she was brought to the Dragonpit. Now all she wants is to tear the fine white silk from her body, rip it apart with her teeth. She's always considered herself the least wolfish out of all of her siblings, but today she wishes she were a wolf, so she could fight her way out of this place. Perhaps it is only her fear talking.

She is led onto a small circular platform, and for a while nothing happens. A group of singers and musicians enters the scene and start performing a song in Valyrian. The people who are gathered in the dragonpit all listen in silence, and Sansa decides to watch the Dragon Lords on the gallery as she awaits her fate.

The Dragon King is sat on a gilded throne. Sansa thinks he looks rather slight and unimpressive under all his finery, though his face holds a serene and indifferent beauty, almost as if it was cut from marble rather than being a face that belongs to a real person. His silver hair is longer than most of the women's around him and it billows softly in the slight breeze.

The Dornish woman on his right is beautiful and clad in layers of shimmering orange silk and cloth-of-gold that are wrapped around her in many layers, but Sansa believes her face is the saddest one she has ever seen. On the Dragon King's left side sits a woman so lovely and proud, she outshines him with ease. Her golden hair falls down her crimson-covered shoulders in soft ringlets, but her smile is knowing and cruel. 

Next to the Dornish woman are two red-haired ladies. Both of them are stout of body and stoic of face. The older one must be her Aunt Lysa, who'd been given to the Dragon King as a peace offering by Sansa's Grandfather Tully. 

On the other side of the golden woman is an empty seat, and next to that a younger lady, dark-haired and buxom, and she is heavy with child, as is the brown-haired girl sitting next to her, who looks too young to be one of the Dragon King's wives. On the row below them, the princes and princesses are seated, most of them resembling their mothers, though a couple of them have the silver hair or pallid skin of Old Valyria. 

The music comes to an end with one elongated, vibrating note and a man in a long black tunic steps forward. He's wearing a white dragon mask with a grotesquely twisted open mouth and gaping black pits for eyes.

"Good people of Dragon Bay!" he addresses the crowd. "Before you stands Sansa of House Stark, Princess of the Northern Kingdom!" He points at her with a dramatic, sweeping gesture. "She has woken the dragon, and for that, she will be punished!"

Sansa doesn't think when she leaps off the platform and cries out, "Excuse me, I was under the impression I was not to be executed today!"

The Dragon King slowly turns to look at her, his face exquisite but cruel. "This is not an execution. You are our prisoner, Princess of the Northern Kingdom. Your people rebelled against us. You are to be sacrificed to the dragon!"

From the shadows behind him, a woman with dark hair and a long face steps forward, putting a hand on his arm. Sansa can barely contain her gasp. It can't be true, but Sansa is almost completely certain. Even though Aunt Lyanna had been taken many years ago, before Sansa was even born, she appears to be alive and well.

"Dragon Lord," she calls out in a clear and steady voice, "you forget that there is another choice."

Sansa isn't close enough to see any emotion in his still body and stony face. "Very well," he says after a long silence. "My sons! Will any of you claim this woman as his own instead of making her a gift for the dragon?"

She daren't look at any of them, so she pushes her shoulders back and lifts her head without truly seeing them. 

A dark-skinned man with silver hair slowly rises, but a golden-haired woman grabs his arm and glares when he turns to face her, and apparently that's enough to change his mind. It looks as if none of his brothers are even going to lift a finger to save her. 

The Dragon King rises to his feet. "Call the dragon!"

The deafening roar of a dozen drums swells, drowning out the sound of Sansa's frantically beating heart. She's not sure if hours have passed or only moments when marvelously coloured fireworks start lighting up the darkening sky. She wishes she wasn't about to die, so she could appreciate their beauty. 

* * *

This is it, the moment Jon and his mother have been preparing for years, though it has arrived rather sooner than they anticipated. But Jon knows he doesn't have a choice. Sansa Stark is his cousin, he needs to save her.

The moment he warged into the dragon, finally allowing himself to fully share its mind, he knew he could do it, and now he's soaring across the sky, the first Targaryen in over a hundred years who's been able to tame the dragon. His mother was right, it was her blood that allowed him to do this.

He circles the city, steering the dragon down toward the Dragonpit, and as he lands it, he can hear the gasps and the cries of awe, but he doesn't pay them any mind. He only has eyes for his beautiful, brave cousin. Grown men have fainted at the sight of the dragon, but she's still standing tall.

He doesn't wish to tear his eyes away from her, but a sharp cry distracts him, alerting him to the look of terror on his father's face, and the furious rage on that of Cersei Lannister. His mother offers him a proud smirk.

"I claim the Northern Princess!" he calls out, and her relief is palpable when he gives her a cautious smile, but saving her is only the beginning. 


End file.
